A Sunday Drive
by Rachael Elizabeth Blair
Summary: Set sometime during Series 1, after Episode 2. Annie finally asks Mitchell for a drive in his car. The two spend the day together in the old car, talking, laughing, remembering...and contemplating that "accidental" kiss.


Set sometime during Series 1, after Episode 2. I don't own Being Human, or any of its characters, it is all property of Lord Toby Whithouse, the magnificent. I also don't want to get in trouble for drawing inspiration from Cascada, Top Gear, Billie Piper, Michael Bublé, RTÉ 2fm, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, The Who, Frank Sinatra, George Michael, or anything else that I have lovingly referenced in here. Please rate and/or review! Thank you!

Annie's wanted to ask this for some time. Every morning making tea and toast, looking out the window at that dark navy, bordering on black, Volvo Amazon with little red circles in the centres of the hubcaps in the dull Bristolian morning sunlight, she wanted to ask Mitchell for a drive in it. It didn't matter where, she just wanted to go somewhere.

Mitchell came down the stairs in his usual vest, black jeans and wooly, fingerless gloves. _It's funny, _Annie thinks, smirking to herself, _he puts on those fingerless gloves like a 19th century orphan in the snow, yet chooses to walk down in a chavvy vest. He could just put on a hoodie to keep warm,_ like everyone else,_ but no-gotta show of those big guns. _Annie looked at Mitchell's arms, with cryptic tattoos and nicely sized muscle bulges, unconsciously letting out a "Mmhmmmhmm" chuckle, like an old croke at a bar, with appalling purple, glossy acrylic nails at a bar, ogling at every 20 year old man that walks in the door.

'What are you laughing about?' Mitchell asked, with a smile of his own.

_Oh my God, _Annie realises, _did I really just do a cougar laugh? Audibly? Out LOUD? Quick, recover!_

'Oh, nothing,' blurted Annie, a little too quickly.

'O-kay...' Mitchell muttered, reaching for his standard black coffee, thinking that Annie was a bit of a mental sometimes, but, bless her heart, she made him coffee and toast in the morning.

'Hey, Mitchell,' Annie began, hesitantly, 'can we go out...for a drive? I mean, that is, if you haven't got work, or something else on today...' _Jesus, could I sound any more desperate, sad and hopeless? _

'Yeah, alright.' _She is so sweet. _He couldn't help but smile, and laugh softly when he was with Annie. 'Where do you want to go?'

'I don't know. It doesn't really matter.' She stopped, smiling through her discomfort, her shoulders shrugged high.

Mitchell went for his keys, 'Okay,' _So, what does "It doesn't really matter" mean? _With Mitchell's back towards her, Annie began slowly, 'Take me somewhere you know. Somewhere only _you_ know.'

Mitchell felt uneasy. 'There aren't any places round here. I've been running for good as near a century. If you want to go to someplace like that, we'd have to go back home. My home." Mitchell smiled, exhaling deeply through his nose, as he remembered that place, a home that hasn't been his for so long.

'It's only half-seven,' Annie offered. 'we can take a ferry. Make a day out of it.' Mitchell, looked to Annie, smiling. _Oh, God, yes, finally, _thought Annie victoriously. _a day out of this stupid, pink house. _Mitchell clutched his keys, smiling. 'I'll grab my coat.'

'Oh! We should leave George a note!' Said Annie, in a sudden, but not severe, panic. She began looking round the kitchen for a pen and paper. Mitchell laughed at this silly spectacle: 'Annie, he'll be fine.' _God, she's cute when she worries. _

'I don't want him to worry about us.'

'Annie, we're dead. I don't think there's really anything that can go wrong.'

Annie fluttered her eyes closed. 'Right. I forget that sometimes.'

"Me too," replied Mitchell.

Annie abandoned her search, and the two dead, but not dead, souls made their way to the old, black car. Mitchell coaxed the old thing to life, in to gear, and then into the street. Annie sat lightly in her seat, her hands under her thighs. She sat poised and ready for the journey, like a kid going to an amusement park. She watched the trees pass by, and felt the sweat from her palms stick to the red vinyl upholstery. _Oh God, I hope I don't leave a stain or something. _That_ would be embarrassing. _Finishing that thought, she ripped her hands out from underneath her, and placed them delicately in her lap.

'So what's brought this on?' Mitchell asked, taking advantage of the mindless motorway-driving of the M4 to look over at Annie, so beautiful in her elegance and excitement, and commence conversation that would have to last them the 7 hours of the journey.

'I love old cars,' Annie admitted freely. 'They're so beautiful. They're like works of art.'

'Didn't Billie Piper say that when she was on Top Gear?'

'Did she? Well, it's true. I do love old cars and they are beautiful like works of art. Who knew I'd ever have anything in common with Billie Piper, eh?'

'I never would have guessed,' Mitchell joked. He paused to let the joke have some nice hang time, then continued. 'I got this car in 1964. At least, I think. Might've been before that. Can't really remember.' He, of course, did remember. He remembered perfectly. It was 1964. He and Herrick were at a bar in Glasgow. Some soldier was taking the piss out of Mitchell, so they got the guy outside the back of the bar, drunk him dry, took his keys and set off. They drove the thing all the way down to London, hitting nearly every bar in between. At the bar in London, Herrick picked up a girl, pretty enough, hair done up in a beehive-type up-do thing, eyelashes heavy, black, dark. Herrick left Mitchell to do the work, but he just couldn't bring himself to do it anymore. 400 miles of bloodshed, and he was tired. He let her go, he began to let his Herrick-driven life go. He just kept the car as a sort of consolation prize.

'Ooh, 1964. The _height _of style,' Annie said somewhat seductively.

'Yeah, I suppose so.' Mitchell was still lost in his daydream of a memory.

They continued talking, joking, laughing, across the M4 and on the ferry. Upon entering Ireland, Mitchell felt a rush, a classic mix of nostalgia of sentimentality. And he hadn't even gotten to the place yet. He had been a "foreigner" for so long, his feeling of belonging felt unusual, but so right. It was like finding an old comfy, loved, jumper at the back of a drawer, and miraculously finding that it still fits. Annie looked over, and noticed the slow smile crawling across Mitchell's face.

'Welcome, home.' Annie reached across and rubbed Mitchell's arm. _God, those arms _are_ nice. _They continued on the road, anxiously awaiting their final destination.

'We need some music,' announced Mitchell, jabbing the radio on. RTÉ 2fm came on, and the last 30 seconds of "Evacuate the Dancefloor" by Cascada blasted through the car's ancient speakers.

'Oh, dear.' Annie winced a little, and she looked over to see that Mitchell shared the same feelings on the subject.

'I know. I was hoping for some good 60s stuff. You know, Beatles, Stones, The Who.' They didn't get the chance. As soon as Cascada was done, it was Michael Bublé's turn. Ordinarily, Mitchell would jab the radio off with even more intensity than he did to turn the contraption on at the sound of the Frank Sinatra wannabe, but the tune that came from the radio was oddly perfect for this moment.

_Another summer day _

_Has come and gone away _

_In Paris and Rome _

_But I wanna go home _

_Mmmmmmmm _

_May be surrounded by _

_A million people I _

_Still feel all alone _

_I just wanna go home _

_Oh, I miss you, you know_

The song played on, and the two friends laughed at the coincidence. 'Never thought I'd be welcomed home by Michael Bublé.'

'Well, as we established earlier, I never thought I'd never have anything in common with Billie Piper, so there you go. Two 'I never's in one day.'

'Yeah." Mitchell laughed even harder at the sound of Bublé's crooning, and at the idea of Annie and Billie Piper together in a room, talking about the _artistry_ of old cars.

No Beatles, Stones or Who songs graced the airwaves in the time between arriving in Ireland, and arriving at Mitchell's chosen destination, but that didn't matter. Mitchell and Annie made a laugh of the current state of the music industry, lamenting the fact that music now is nowhere near as good as music from the 60s, or 80s in Annie's case.

'The 80s?' Mitchell looked at Annie as if she had just admitted that she once had a love affair with a Peruvian llama. 'What is good about the 80s? It's all synth this, that and the other thing. Oh, and "power ballads"? Mitchell shrugged and sighed. 'It's not even real music.'

'It's my childhood, Mitchell! I know it's ridiculous, but it's what I grew up with. "Faith" by George Michael comes on, and I'm instantly back in my living room, dancing around in my footsie pyjamas. It just makes me happy.'

'George Michael?'

'Shut up, it's a good song.'

Such debates carried on until finally, they got there. They parked in a small lot atop a ridge overlooking a grey beach. 'Where are we?'

'Greystones. It's where I grew up. I used to spend all day on this beach. An only child. No friends to speak of.'

'Awww. Poor baby Mitchell...'

Mitchell turned his head to give Annie a dirty look, then continued. 'I would just sit down on the beach, and think. Not about anything in particular. Except one day. One day, I got up, when down to the beach, and decided that there wasn't anything here for me in this little railroad town. I wanted to get out and see the world. There was a war on, and I thought "Great! I can get out of here with absolutely no skills at all except the ability to keep air in my lungs!"' Annie laughed quietly at Mitchell's little quip, knowing that would be the last opportunity to laugh in this monologue. 'But even that failed. I found that the air escaped, and the blood with it. I ran away, and never stopped.' A pause. 'Coming back here, it's a bit like I'm remembering someone else's childhood.' Annie looked concerned. Noticing this, Mitchell straightened up, and shrugged it off. ''S alright. It's what happened. There's no changing that.' Mitchell tried to act cool about it, but dark black bitterness was slowly building up in his body, currently collecting in the pit of his stomach. _Don't blow up, _thought Mitchell. _Don't blow up. _

'Well, thanks for the trip,' Annie added sincerely. She placed her hand on top of his, gently squeezing his fingers. Mitchell looked down at the hand on top of his, and followed the attached arm all the way up to the dark brown eyes that squinted in the afternoon sun. Annie smiled. She remembered that accidental kiss she and Mitchell shared a couple of weeks back. It was an accident...wasn't it? Sitting here in this old Volvo, looking out at the sea, she felt an instinctive urge to kiss him again-on purpose, this time. She began to lean over to kiss him, but her hip collided with the gear lever, and sent a sharp pain pulsing throughout her whole body. She let out a contained yelp.

'You alright over there?' Mitchell looked over to see Annie leaning towards him, her face contorted into a strange configuration of pain, and puckered lips.

_Oh my God_. 'Yep. I'm fine. My foot just fell asleep, and I was shifting to wake it up.' _Foot asleep? You idiot. You're dead. You can't feel anything._

'Right...' Mitchell accepted this defence, as bad as it was. He suspected that Annie was trying to go in for a kiss, and he felt disappointed, because he kind of wanted to kiss her too. But this was not the place. There was a big old gear lever in the way, and that just wasn't going to work out well for anyone. _Later, _he thought. _I'll figure out a way later_.

'You ready to go?' Mitchell was hoping for a yes, so that they could make their way back home, and find an equally romantic situation at the flat...maybe at the bottom of the stairs leading up to his room. A goodnight kiss, that was it. That would be it.

'Not yet. I want to see the sunset.'

The two waited in the car for the sun to set. The hours passed in silent contemplation. The sun set, painting the sky with brilliant shades of pinks, oranges and yellows. As the last sliver of sun fell below the horizon, Annie whispered to Mitchell, 'We can go now.' Mitchell repeated the slow, startling routine of getting the car in to motion, and then turned round back toward Bristol. In the darkness, Mitchell glanced over to see that Annie had fallen asleep. He had been trying to get Annie to sleep for weeks, and now here it was. _Perfect. A wake-up kiss. _


End file.
